


7 Daughters of 7 Houses

by Greeneyesthickthighs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4826456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greeneyesthickthighs/pseuds/Greeneyesthickthighs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>7 daughters born to different houses than cannon - a retelling of the difference a last name can make. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arya Frey

**_Arya Frey_ **

 

Arya is a name soon forgotten in the household, a queer name among Waldas, Arwyns, and pretty southern names from the songs. Arya's mother was a weak willed woman, an ugly one, but one with a willing father, a woman of house Flint of the North. She bears the name of her grandmother, the spirit of a stubborn mule, and the looks of a haggard northern woman. Her mother died of the pox, caught from such close quarters to so many of her siblings stuck together in the Twins. She has spoken to her father a handful of times in her memory, none of the talks stirring any warm emotions. Each time she has to remind her father of who she is, and has never heard her father utter a kind word of the mother who birthed her.

 Her father values ambition above all else, a quality that Arya is sorely lacking in. She has no need of his attention, does not want it, and tries to stay in the shadows as much as possible. She spends her eleven years playing with servants children, dressed in her brother's trousers, sleeping in the stables if only to avoid her sisters. She shares rooms with five of her sisters, two of them Walda's, all older, fairer and crueler than she. She squeezes between her siblings, fighting for space, for room to breathe. Arya hates her sisters, hates her mother for dying and leaving her here alone, hates her father the most. She hates herself too, for hating so much, because malice is something she got from Old Walder Frey, and she has no wish to be anything like him.

Her life is a disappointment, stuck in the Twins with her horrible siblings until she gets married to a horrible old lord and is forced to bear his horrible children. She has no love of children, she has far too many young siblings, countless nieces and nephews forever running between her legs, screeching bloody murder down the corridors at all hours of the night. She contemplates suicide sometimes, in desperate hours, when food is kept from her, when she can’t breathe from the closeness, but throws the idea away with a few moments thought. She craves control, adventure, adrenaline, and ending her life will not bring any of those things. If only she had been born a man, she seethes, she could have been knighted, could have rode her horse from Dorne to the Wall without a moment's thought. She’d ride in tourneys, kill outlaws, join the Kingsguard, and ride into war with the King himself.

On her twelfth nameday Yoren comes to the Twins, a stooped grisly man who smells of piss and wears the black of the Nights watch like a shroud. He crosses the Twins frequently on his way to Kings Landing, it amuses her Lord Father greatly to show off his many children from many wives to a man who has sworn to celibacy and a life of servitude. Yoren toes the line between humorous and disrespectful, flirting with her sisters, drinking with her brothers and winks at Arya once in the main hall after too much wine.

 Later that night, Arya overhears her sisters tittering, Fat Walda pouting, her big pink lips curled up on her fat pink face. "It's not fair," she hears her fat sister complain outside her door, "A proper daughter like me remains unwed and here while that little urchin gets a husband.”

 “Don’t worry sister,” a voice replies, female, but she cannot place it. “That little bitch is in for far worse fate than the Twins.” The giggles get quieter as the footsteps recede, but it does nothing to calm Arya. Her heart pounds in her chest, beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs, _DANGER DANGER DANGER._

She knows what she must do.

 That night, a shadows slips into the kitchen, and disappears with a sharp vegetable knife, and in the morning, Arya Frey is gone.Her father cares not, one less mouth to feed, her sisters are glad for the extra space in their room. 

Leagues away Arry Snow travels north with the Nightswatch recruits, visions of White Harbor in his head, snowflakes catching in his choppy short hair.


	2. Arianne Baratheon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t worry baby brother, I will never leave you.”

**_Arianne Baratheon_ **

****

Arianne is born at Storms End, cradled against her mother’s breast during a windstorm at rattles the windows, and her mother calls her Arianne for the daughter of Elenei and Durran. _“My lovely Arianne, stronger than the wind and sea,”_ her father whispers.

It’s a story she will hear from the Maester when she’s old enough, because Arianne becomes an orphan at three years old, crying in her room with her mean old Septa, while her brothers ordered the bay swept for their parent’s bodies. Her septa is a harsh woman, commanding, used to whipping boys into shape, preferring to order about Stanny and Rob than console her female charge. So Arianne dismisses her Septa, with all the authority a four year old girl can have, and her Septa is tired enough to do as she commands without a fuss.

When she’s sure the Septa is truly gone, peeking out the door both ways to be sure, she finds her way across the hall to Renly’s nursery. Her baby brother is barely a year old, black haired and chubby cheeked, waking when the door opens, blinking at her with big blue eyes. He coos softly, but never makes a sound beyond that, he never cries with Arianne.

She looks down at her baby brother, reaches a chubby toddler hand through the bars to stroke over his wispy black hair, relishing the way he turns his head to press his face into her palm. _“Don’t worry baby brother, I will never leave you.”_

Arianne is eight years old when Robert starts a rebellion for Lyanna Stark, who Arianne has never met before. She is eight when Stannis seals the castle gates against the Tyrell forces, when she nearly dies of a fever, skin pocked with red spots, gone without medicine for too long and with little food and water for her recovery. Stannis frets over her constantly, Renly barred from her room for fear of him catching her illness, sobbing for his sister outside the door at all hours of the day. When she is better and the war is over, the brother she barely knows calls them to Kings Landing to celebrate his victory and impending marriage, elated that his beloved Lyanna has been found and is on her way to Kings Landing. Renly holds her hand at the feast, and they eat so much food their faces turn green, memories of hunger pains still fresh in their minds. Robert gifts them both with new silks to wear to his official crowning ceremony, but hugs them awkwardly, not sure what to do with children, but trying none the less, his eyes as bright as sapphires.

It is only a few days later that Ned Stark arrives in Kings Landing with Lady Lyanna’s bones, and Roberts eyes are never like sapphires again. He marries Cersei Lannister instead, who dotes upon her at first but speaks to Arianne like she is a street urchin the next morning. Stannis leaves soon after for Dragonstone, and Arianne waits everyday for his return until her new Septa tells her he’s never coming back, and Arianne cries all day. Stannis is not affectionate like Renly, or fumblingly lovable like Robert, but he is her brother and she loves him regardless, because she treasures the chance to earn his rare smiles. Who will make him laugh at his new home? His new wife is seems sad, Arianne has never once witnessed Selyse smile, and she thinks they will make quite a pair, the both of them, frowning all day at each other. When she tells this to Renly, he only shrugs and continues his games. Renly does not love their brother like she does, but sometimes she catches him lingering in Stannis’ room, sitting on the bed or playing underneath his desk. _“Don’t worry baby brother, I’ll keep your secret,”_ she’ll whisper as they linger in their brothers room, a secret for the two of them to share.

Though they are three years apart, Renly and Arianne are thick as thieves, running through the halls laughing and playing and loving each other fiercely. _“Look look, I’m a raingod!”_ Renly will shout, chasing his sister through the courtyard. _“Well I’m Queen Nymeria with a thousand ships!”_ She returns, waving Renly’s wooden sword over her head. Ser Cortnay will shake his head when they come down with a cold from playing too long in the rain but they know he could never truly stay angry at them.

They both grow too quickly for Penrose’s liking, the little boy now a tall, handsome, quick- tongued youth of fifteen, far too much like King Robert for his own good. His older charge takes more after her mother; she seems a china doll next to her brother, standing at a mere five feet to his six and half. Arianne seems to grow more beautiful with every passing day, tales of her beauty sung by many a minstrel. He is glad, remembering the pudgy little girl he often weeping in front of her mother’s portrait, begging the gods to make her as beautiful as Cassana Baratheon had been. King Robert has written numerous times about a betrothal for his sister, eighteen and still unwed, but he has yet to decide on a match. There were several names from honorable, old houses; a Hightower boy was the first, one of the Redwyne twins, Edmure Tully, much older but heir to the Riverlands, Quentyn Martell of Dorne, even Mace Tyrells oldest boy. Robert holds affection for his sister high above his brothers, if only partly for her uncanny resemblance to their late mother. Her Grandfather Estermont has a special love for her for this exact reason, a fact the lady is very well aware of and uses frequently to her advantage. If not for her nature, this would alarm Ser Cortnay, but he knows Arianne well, and she has a good heart.

When Robert sends Loras Tyrell to Storms End, Arianne is endlessly amused. The boy is barely eleven, with legs like a stork, curly haired and pretty like a girl, but stubborn like a mule. Renly is bewildered by him, her brother only trains in the yard when absolutely necessary and Robert has sent him a squire who is talented as a full grown man with a sword with dreams of being the next Barristan the Bold. Arianne expects it was a boon to Mace Tyrell, to keep the fat Lord happy. She knows Lord Tyrell had previously offered Willas Tyrell as a suitor but no matter how well Loras spoke of his brother, she knew Robert would never marry her to a crippled man. Mace Tyrell is fiercely proud, and Loras’ squiring is a balm to placate him. Renly holds no grudge against the Tyrells and warms quickly to his quick tempered squire, but Arianne remembers the hunger pains as if it was yesterday, and finds herself a little distant from Loras at first.

As the years pass Loras grows on her, and follows brother like a puppy, fiercely loyal, becoming more handsome with each passing year. She is quite fond of him, proud of his accomplishments, but never feels anything more than a sisterly love. How can she, when he is so hopelessly infatuated with her dear brother? He lights up for her brother, endures his teasing, growing more and more in love as the years pass. It is almost painful, to watch their bumbling courtship, to witness her carefree brother grow helplessly enamoured with his squire. Renly pouts when Loras returns to Highgarden for visits and is positively unbearable until Loras’ return, even though he always returns bearing ripe fruits for the both of them, presenting Arianne with peaches so juicy they burst in her mouth. Renly could never hide anything from Arianne, not when she is one half of him, and his whispered confessions of love and how right it felt to kiss Loras never leave her chambers, she holds the secrets close to her heart. _"Don't worry baby brother,"_ she whispers in his hair, _"I'll never love you any less."_

Robert holds a grand tourney in Kings Landing for his youngest sons nameday, and Loras wins the jousting tourney against dozens of seasoned Knights. He ends the tourney kneeling, swearing vows in the name of the Warrior, a fierce pride in his voice, realizing his dreams before the eyes of the court. Arianne knows her brother better than she knows herself, and she sees his sharp, wet eyes when Loras rises from the dirt of the tourney yard a Knight, acknowledged by his King as Ser Loras Tyrell, no longer a squire, no longer in need of a Lord to chase after. He will be expected to return to the Reach now and it is killing the both of them. When Loras rises, he smiles brightly at Arianne, and charmingly offers the crown of marigolds to her, placing them gently atop her dark head, kissing her hand sweetly, proclaiming her the most beautiful woman in the realm. She spots a pair of young girls watching them longingly, an achingly handsome Knight and his fair Lady with a crown of flowers bright as beaten gold in her hair. Something in her chest cracks when she spots Renly hurrying away through the crowd, half a head taller than any man here save Clegane, running from his worst nightmare, the loss of Loras Tyrell. _“Don’t worry baby brother, I’ll always protect you,”_ She murmurs that night, thoughts firing rapidly through her head, plans half formed and age-old promises to her brother singing in her blood.

So Arianne does what she has always done, she protects her brother as best she is able to, as she has since she made him a promise at his cradle side. She goes to Robert the next morning, when he has already drunken two cups of strong Dornish wine. Alone in his chambers with her eldest brother for the first time in several years, she sits across from him in a black satin gown, the sleeves slashed with cloth of gold, Lady Cassana’s treasured pearls wrapped twice around her throat, Arianne plots to secure her brothers happiness. When she leaves the room an hour later, there is a raven on its way to Highgarden with a most lofty proposition. Stannis will be furious, she thinks, but Stannis is not here, and Renly’s smile is so lovely when she whispers her plans in his ear.

Half a year later, Arianne Baratheon weds Ser Loras Tyrell in a beautiful ceremony at Highgarden. There are fresh roses woven into her hair, the sun is shining brightly down on the party tents and she knows she will never look lovelier than she does today. Stannis refused to attend the wedding, citing the duty of a council member to stay behind whilst the King travelled away to Highgarden. It stings, but she accepts that she has chosen one brother before the other. She has both her brothers escort her down the aisle to Loras, breathtakingly handsome in green and gold silks. After the wedding, they will tour the Reach and return to Storms End, at the leisure of Renly, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. In the sept, Robert’s beard tickles when he presses a moist kiss to her cheek, but Renly’s kiss is warm and his eyes are softer than she has ever seen them. Here is the brother she loves best, and she shares a secret smile with him before the ceremony begins and she faces her soon-to-be husband.

 _"Don't worry baby brother,"_ She'll murmur in his ear when he twirls her on the dance floor later that night, _"I'll always love you best."_

(Later, she will drink Arbour gold until her vision blurs alone in her rooms while her husband and brother enjoy her wedding night in the adjoining rooms...

And when a raven brings tidings of Roberts’s death to her at Storms End she feels cold, another Baratheon dead, his remains on their way to Storms End but she will not cry, not when her brothers are in danger now and she puts pen to paper to write to her Good father in High Garden...

Later she will be Arianne Tyrell, a sister to three Kings, an aunt to black haired nieces and nephews, declared a traitor by the Lannisters...

She will eventually face her elder brother from her place at Renly’s side in a field of green and gold, stone faced and proud but will sob into her pillow that night whispering _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry, Stanny I’m sorry I love you I didn’t mean to betray you I’m sorry_ because no one is there to witness her regret...

And when Renly dies, it is not in battle, nor is it from illness, and when she hears people whisper of Stannis’ red woman’s’ magic, of the shadow that killed him, and Lady Brienne will swear a holy vow to her that the shadow wore Stannis’ face. _Not Stanny,_ she’ll whisper in horror, _he would not kill him, no no no, Stannis would not kill our brother, not my Renly, not Stanny no no..._

But the Stannis who stroked her hair when she ill, who let her sit in his lap to hear supplicants if she promised to behave, who came to her defense against her wicked Septa and taught her to speak High Valyrian, he is a stranger now, a King who has murdered the other half of her in cold blood...

So she will hold her young husband’s trembling hand, quiet his sobs, lay his head on her shoulder and gaze down at her best brother’s corpse.

 _Don’t worry little brother, I will avenge you_.)

But for now, Arianne knows she has kept her best brother whole and it is enough.


	3. Shireen Sand (Dayne)

**_Shireen Sand (Dayne)_ **

Arthur Dayne loves his daughter fiercely.

The court does not look kindly on her, the bastard daughter of a Kingsguard and an unknown woman. The speculation on what type of woman could tempt a Knight as legendary as Ser Arthur Dayne is very popular throughout court. He never speaks her mothers name, which unfortunately leaves the focus of their scorn on his girl instead. He hates them for it, hates Lannister for his smirks, Darry for his ignorance, Selmy for walking on eggshells, Whent for his cruel japes, the Queen for her distaste of bastard children. His hatred is all for naught, daughter or not, Kings Landing is his home now. As distasteful as the city is, he will remain here as his duty demands.

Kings Landing is also Shireen Sand, seven years old and lovelier than the Maiden. There is nothing he loves better than her. He remembers her taking her first steps, squealing _“Papa Papa Papa,”_ and thinking he could never love her more. Then she learns to write, loopy scribbles left all over his desk and he loves her more. She whispers secrets in his ear, giggles when her Aunt Ashara tickles her, plays beneath his desk and always asks him to be her Prince, and he loves her more and more each time.

Being a father has redefined him, he knows, has made him new again.

He also knows that without Rhaegar’s friendship she would be raised away from him in Dorne with his elder brother and Allyria. He knows she would be better off there, playing at the beaches of Starfall , purple eyes lit by the fiery Dornish sunset, laughing in the Water Gardens with Oberyn’s girls, picking pears from the groves outside his childhood home. Each time Ashara leaves for Starfall to visit their ailing mother, when a ship leaves port headed for Plankytown, his head tells him to send her away and his heart refuses to listen. It is a selfish pleasure for him to know that other than Ashara, he is her only family here.

He loves nothing better than the soft press of her lips on his cheek each morning, the sureness of her voice as she reads to him in the evenings he has off, how she leans into his touch when he combs his fingers through her hair.

Ashara scolds him if she catches him curled around her in his bed, telling him that Shireen is much too old to be sleeping in his bed. He only grins unrepentant each time, and when again she comes crawling into his bed he will only smile and open his arms to her. He cannot refuse her anything, his lovely little girl with eyes like amethysts and freckles on her nose.

Sometimes he twists daisies from the gardens in her hair and she is radiant as a Queen and she runs to show her Aunt and the Princess Elia, who clap and smile indulgently at her, calling her _“lovely Shireen.”_ They are as unable to resist her sweet face as he, though the Queen remains distant with her, smiling thinly at the little bastard girl. Shireen tries her hardest to please the Princess and her aunt, both women are so beautiful that she tries with clumsy fingers to make crowns with the yellow dandelions she picks, but they fall to pieces each time. Ashara only smiles and takes the ruined crown from her, and though it looks ridiculous upon her head, she wears them as if they are diamonds, twirling her niece about the Princess’ rooms in a lively dance, Shireen`s laughter the sweetest music he’s ever heard.

Rhaegar understands his love well; having a daughter he too spoils beyond chiding, forever slipping her sweets, kneeling on the floor of her nursery to tell her stories of Aegon and his sisters, looping scarves of silk around her shoulders. He only smiles firmly when Arthurs Kingsguard brothers ask about Shireen, sneer at their brother for his broken vows, look down on what they feel is a stain on his white cloak.

Only Lewyn Martell understands, he himself has half a dozen bastards, all back in Dorne, but hardly well kept secrets. Shireen names him Uncle at four years old, and Arthur is quick to correct her, but Lewyn’s firm hand stops him. _“Uncle to a little girl with Dayne eyes,”_ he begins, a grin appearing underneath a thick mustache and beard, _“is far from the worst name I’ve been called. Fret not, Arthur. My own nieces are far from me, it will be good to be called Uncle once more.”_

From that day on, when Shireen is not with her father, or with her Aunt and the Princess, she is often found perched atop Lewyn Martell’s strong shoulders, giggling in delight, sweeping her fingers over the fluttery banners usually out of her reach.

The week before her eighth nameday, Arthur takes her down to the markets. Just past the street of silk is a vendor that deals exclusively in Dornish foods, the only place in Kings Landing that sells the foods of their homeland for King Aerys had forbade the kitchens to serve anything Dornish. Arthur walks with one hand in Shireen’s, and the other on Dawn, strapped to his hip and glistening in the noontime sun.

The vendor recognizes him on sight, smiling and already reaching for his plate of plums so dark they are nearly black, picked in Dorne and a favourite of Shireen’s. She smiles brightly at the man, and plum juice is soon running down her chin and elbows. She leans forward, finally tall enough to see over the stand, looking over the snake-meat, grilled dragon peppers, lemon sweets, dates wrapped in fig leaves and settles on tangy spiced oranges.

Arthur is distracted by the plum juice on his daughters chin, and he curses himself moments later when a man’s hand lands heavy on his daughter’s bare shoulder. Shireen yelps and Arthur has the man on his back with Dawn unsheathed in less than three seconds. The man’s head lolls back, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly, drunk or stupid he knows not. Shireen’s grip on his cloak is what stills his hand, what saves his life.

 _“If you value that hand, you will not lay it on my daughter again, fool,”_ He growls, sheathing Dawn and noticing the stares of the crowd for the first time. He picks Shireen up with one arm, though she is much too tall for it, her feet hanging down to his knees. She does not protest, when he insists on carrying her into the courtyard of the Red Keep. He sets her down halfway up the steps, checking her over for injury though she is already assuring him that she is fine. He holds her close to his chest, peppers kisses on her cheeks and forehead, and takes her sticky little fingers in his. They have birthday oranges to eat, after all, and he allows her to lead him to the gardens.

He doesn’t notice the grey patch on the back of her neck until three days later.

(Lyanna’s eyes are wet as she gazes down at her newborn son, her mouth dropped open in wonder.

“He’s so small,” She whispers, smiling brilliantly when the babe blinks up at her.

Arthur glances down at the boy, but sees a different child.

 _“Love him well, my lady,”_ he tells her and his tone makes her look up at him. _“Children are not so small forever.”_

She nods slowly and returns her eyes to her son, _“I will. Thank you, Ser Arthur.”_

He doesn’t respond. His mind is on laughing purple eyes, fingers sticky with plum juice, daisies twisted in a long dark braid and a grave at Starfall.

When Ned Stark’s men come, he is almost relieved.

The only sound ringing in his ears during the short fierce battle is laughter, fresh from a rosebud mouth, loud enough to drown out the clashing of steel against steel.

When a sword finally runs him through, he laughs along with her.

_Shireen Shireen, I am coming Shireen_

They bury him beside her.)


End file.
